


Beautiful Wreck

by sg_fic



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Angst, Car Sex, Gay Bar, Pining, scogan - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:20:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29538126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sg_fic/pseuds/sg_fic
Summary: Scott's got a problem. He's going to solve it. Takes place after The Last Stand (boo), but Scott and Xavier survived (yay!)
Relationships: Logan (X-Men)/Scott Summers, scott summers/M
Comments: 20
Kudos: 40





	1. Beautiful Wreck

[ ](https://ibb.co/Rpy08FM)

_\---_

_And at the dark end of this bar_

_What a[beautiful wreck](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Tokw8tbz2w) you are_

_When you go too far, beautiful wreck you are_

_\---_

Scott was leaning on his motorcycle and rubbing his sweaty hands down his jeans when Logan texted him. There was a time when Logan getting in touch would have meant an emergency, but lo and behold, causally texting each other was something that Cyclops and the Wolverine were actually doing nowadays.

He unlocked his phone and was greeted by the last photo that Logan had sent him two days ago. In it, a beer glass rested on a _'N Sync_ CD, foam dripping all over its label. The caption had read:

_'Since u said it's not urs I figured u wouldn't mind'_

_'It was Jubilee's, asshole.'_

And now, underneath it:

_'Where r u?'_

Scott looked up from the screen, at the sign that read _HAVANA BAR_ , and his fingers tightened around his phone.

 _'Out on errands--'_ he started, then bit his lower lip. _'Out'_ he typed instead and hit _send_.

His shoulders tensed.

The _Havana Bar_ used to be _The Westchester Sports Club,_ which was why it was situated in the middle of nowhere, enjoying a disproportionate parking lot, and Scott was surprised to hear approaching footsteps on the gravel.

Feeling eyes on him he looked up, expecting trouble.

Instead, a tall, freckled guy was smiling down at him, one red eyebrow arched. Reminding himself where he was Scott smiled back, when the phone buzzed in his hand once more;

_'U don't say'_

_'When u coming back?'_

_'Were suppose to go on a run'_

His shoulders sagged; not now... not tonight. He was still frowning at the screen when, from the corner of his eye, he could see the stranger shoving his hands into his pockets, bowing his head, and walking away.

Relief washed over him, but it was soon replaced with anger;

 _'*we're'_ he corrected, hit _send_ , and pocketed his phone.

He said 'maybe' to today's run, and Logan never chased, so as far as he was concerned this additional mid-week session was never agreed on, which is probably what he should have said—

No.

Keeping in touch with Logan wasn't what this trip was about.

Scott glowered at the club's sign with its tacky retro font, determined not to let Logan texting him make tonight go sideways. He was going to get fucked on this trip whether he wanted to or not.

...okay, a poor choice of words, but he should. It's been over two years; this was getting ridiculous, even for him.

He looked around... the redhead was nowhere to be seen. Not that he was going to jump on the first available dick—

—He cringed. For a moment, the temptation to get on his bike and ride all the way back to the school was overwhelming, but then his phone vibrated in his pocket and Scott squared his shoulders; he was going to have sex with someone tonight, and that someone wasn't going to be Jean, and that's okay.

She wouldn't have wanted this for him; this crippling grief and loneliness, made worse by a newfound sexual frustration... as if on cue, the phone buzzed in his pocket once more, and reaching in Scott turned it off with a long press and hold of the side button.

Jean would have approved of him moving on, he nodded to himself and pushed off his bike.

...would she approve of _this_ though? He looked at the club's front, where a couple of guys stood huddled in their coats, a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other, and told himself sternly that _yes._ Jean would have hated for him to spend the rest of his life wondering whether this was something that he truly wanted, or just a phase brought on by grief, loneliness, and too much time spent one-on-one with— no.

Not tonight.

Running a hand through his hair one last time, he made his way to the door.

\---

It was late January, and even though the sun had set hours ago, it was still early and the place wasn't crowded. The dark interior was softly lit by purple blocks of light that were hung above the bar, and above each of the four corners of the dance floor. The music was the kind of stuff Jubilee listened to, but he wasn't here for the music.

Scott found an uncomfortable stool at the bar along the wall, that was both somewhat secluded and had offered a good vantage point, and soon after a bartender approached him,

“Hi.”

“Hi, I'll have a pint of Lowlander 0%, thanks.”

He ignored the way the corners of the bartender's mouth twitched; he'd already made up his mind about staying sober. Whatever happens tonight—he needed to know that it wasn't alcohol-induced. Scott pressed his lips together, and reminded himself not to get his hopes up; no matter how things would go down, pun not intended, he'd made the first move. It was a start.

Still, his heart was beating stupidly fast as he sat there waiting for his drink. Scott scolded himself; it was just an itch, just a problem that he needed to solve—which happened to be what he did for a living. If he could lead the X-Men and help keep the free world safe from the Brotherhood, he could find a way to get this out of his system.

“Thanks,” He pulled out his wallet but the bartender dismissed him with a wave of his hand,

“It's still early, how about I'll start you a tab?” he winked.

Wearing shades indoors and ordering alcohol-free beer, Scott was already drawing too much attention to himself, so going against his initial plan he nodded and gave the good-looking bartender his name.

Speaking of good looking, two guys were checking him out from across the bar, and Scott found himself instinctively averting his gaze, all too used to being gawked at by mutant haters.

 _This isn't the case_ he reminded himself sternly, _on the contrary, in here this is the whole point._ So he looked back up, but the moment was gone. One of the guys had already left, and the other was on his phone, covering his free ear in an effort to overcome the music.

Disappointed and relieved, Scott took a sip of beer then almost pulled a face. Ew. Good thing that Logan wasn't here to— _no_.

Just... no.

He let out a long, low sigh.

On a personal level, he could have survived this unfortunate ordeal for however long needed... but the team deserved his one-hundred-percent and he was failing them as of late. Small, yet unacceptable things, like running a couple of minutes late to a Danger Room session, or asking the students to repeat themselves because his mind was elsewhere.

...which was why he was here, in a gay bar that he'd carefully chosen online, instead of out on an evening run with Logan.

Hank hated it when Scott admitted as much, but he was used to being unhappy; all of his memories before and after Jean were painful ones. Love just wasn't something that he'd come to expect from life, and was willing to settle for teaching the students and leading the team. Sex, however, was proving to be more of a problem.

An unexpected problem at that—it took him a while to understand what's been bothering him. Sexual frustration was brand new to him. It was never an issue.

After all, his sexual awakening happened late in life; he was too busy surviving being a blind orphan to care about these things, so it was no surprise that he'd lost his virginity to Jean back in his early twenties. For a whole decade he needn't worry about, well, getting some. Sex was just part of his routine, and he didn't really know what it felt like to go without.

Until not too long ago, that is.

It didn't happen immediately, his sex drive was shuttered after Alkali Lake, as was his sanity, and just as he was beginning to feel like his old self again Jean came _back—_

Scott closed his eyes. Took another sip of alcohol-free beer, which turned out to be less nasty on second taste.

What was he doing? Thinking about the battle of Alcatraz was the exact opposite of getting himself in the mood...

...but it was also what, eventually, made him come here tonight.

Everyone thought that Scott had it rough after Alkali Lake, until Logan redefined being in a bad way post-Alcatraz. It shouldn't have come as a surprise—while Scott unintentionally and indirectly killed Jean by blasting the foundations of the dam, Logan had to physically drive his claws into her chest.

He came back a broken man, guilt-ridden and maddened by grief.

His behavior in the weeks following Jean's second death was alarming enough for Scott to overcome his own grief and reach out to the other man, because a. it was his duty to keep the team together, keep it functioning, and b. if anyone knew what Logan was going through it was him.

Only Logan was hardly seen during daytime back then, and would always lower his gaze and quickly vanish if someone did happen to bump into him at night.

Scott was left with no choice but to move some lessons around and ask Ro to cover his share of Danger Room sessions, so that he could tackle the notorious nightshifts.

\---

“Hi”

He found Logan on the second night of his new routine, smoking a cigar on the small balcony above Ro's greenhouse.

“What are you doing up?” Logan cast him a sideways glance from over his shoulder.

“Nightshift.” Scott wasn't lying. One of the teachers always had to stay up in case the students, or the authorities, needed them. He might have omitted how he turned his busy schedule on its head in order to squeeze four nightshifts into a single week, but still, not lying.

“Okay,” Logan put out his cigar against his palm, a habit Scott didn't approve of even when facing Logan's back, the hissing sound of the extinguishing flame enough to send chills up his spine,

“then say what you came here to say,” Logan turned around, shoulders drawn up, fists clenched at his sides.

Scott knew what he was expecting to hear. Instead, he echoed,

“They were looking for you downstairs, you didn't show. I had to cover your ass.”

The irony wasn't lost on Logan—his smile was crooked and full of pain,

“Yeah, well, it stopped you from going to the lake. Who knows what would have happened if you faced her alone.”

“Yeah. That's the second time you've done that, now.”

Logan arched a questioning eyebrow at him, just like Scott hoped he would,

“Remember Jean's first death?” somehow his voice didn't crack, “On the Blackbird? I was trying to run out there, throw myself into the water. You stopped me. That's twice you saved my life.”

“Three times,” Logan corrected, just like Scott knew he would, “The first was when we encountered Mystique on Liberty Island—“ The hazel eyes hardened, “...I know what you're trying to do, Summers.”

“And? Is it helping?”

“Donno, you tell me—is Jean back from the dead yet?” and he pushed his way past Scott, making a point to bump against his shoulder, not giving him a chance to get out of his way.

\---

“Hi,”

Scott blinked.

Lost in thoughts, he somehow finished his 0% beer, even though it'd gone flat and warm. He looked up,

“Sorry for interrupting you earlier, glad to see you made it in okay. You didn't look sold on the place out there.” The redhead who was checking him out outside was now leaning against the bar next to him.

Scott looked around; the place got more crowded and the music got louder while he reminisced.

“Hi, yeah, sorry. Just... been thinking.”

“No place like the Havana for brainstorming,” the man laughed and offered him his hand, “Steve.”

“Scott,” He shook the offered hand and gave the man a once over, trying to imagine his freckled hands on his body, and to estimate whether he was likely to get off if he followed this through. His conclusion was that the chances were slim.

_'Slim.'_

He looked away from Steve's smiling face.

His phone felt heavier in his pocket somehow, and for a moment the bar blurred around the edges. Can a guy get drunk on 0% beer?

“Another,” he pointed at his empty glass as soon as he managed to make eye contact with the bartender,

“Well, that's a first!” Laughing, he reached for Scott's empty glass,

“Next round's on me,” Steve said, and the bartender looked up at Scott questioningly, waiting for him to accept,

“Um, I have a tab so I'm good. Thanks.”

“Yeah, okay.” Steve's face fell, “I should probably go check on my friends anyway, they were about to order some food, so. See you around,”

He gave the bartender an awkward nod before turning his back on them.

“Was I right about the tab or was I right about the tab?” the bartender, who'd clearly been working there for a while, handed Scott his beer.

Nodding his thanks Scott took a long sip.

\---

Logan was nowhere to be seen for the rest of that week, and towards the end of his last nightshift Scott found himself knocking on his door. He did not miss three training sessions and the school's yearly introduction to college credits only to come back empty-handed and dead tired.

“Yeah what?” Logan called from inside, wide awake. Scott tried the door. It was unlocked.

“You're leaving.” he crouched on the opposite side of Logan's black duffle bag,

“Wouldn't you?” Logan zipped up a full compartment so forcefully that Scott was surprised the zip didn't break.

“No. I stayed.”

“Yeah, well I hope Chuck gave you a gold star for bravery.” he shoved a pair of jeans into the bag and the belt slipped out of the loops in the process, the heavy buckle hitting the wooden floor with a metallic thud. Logan snatched it and shoved it in with a jerky move.

“Where will you go?”

“Fuck if I know.” the feral mutant gathered rolled-up socks that were scattered on the floor by his bag, completely avoiding his gaze.

“Logan,” going with his gut Scott reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, bringing him to a stop. The older man was wearing a white vest and froze at the unexpected touch, hostile eyes jumping from Scott's hand on his shoulder to Scott's face,

“What?” he glared at him.

“Don't go.”

“Let me guess, the team needs me.” the thin lips curled into a snarl, but Scott refused to be impressed, he wasn't there to fight.

“Yes. Thousands of innocent people would have died if it weren't for you.”

The honesty in his voice seemed to have deflated Logan's anger. Instead he looked tired and distant,

“I'm going to Japan Summers, ain't nothing you can say to stop me.”

“Japan? What for?”

“Clearing my head, training,”

“Train here, with me.” Scott normally would have said _'us'_ , but decided it was too impersonal and vague. Besides, he could do with some one-on-one training too. All of the time spent in his room after Alkali Lake had left him rustier than he cared to admit. That was when Logan's eyes darted down, to where Scott's hand was still resting on his bare shoulder.

Scott withdrew his hand and cleared his throat.

“Jean wouldn't have wanted for you to leave, not on her account. I know,” his voice cracked and he had to take a deep breath, look away,

“...I can't imagine what it must have been like, but you did the right thing up there—you were the only one who could. We still need you here, Logan.”

Logan scoffed but didn't argue. Scott decided that it was a good sign,

“So tomorrow at seven? Meet me in the danger room?”

But no.

Logan picked up a denim jacket and shoved it into the bag, which was all the answer Scott needed.

“Okay. Well.” he rose to his feet, tired and depressed,

Logan didn't react, just kept on packing.

“Think about it,” Scott said as he reached the door, then closed it behind him and went to spend the rest of his shift in the TV room.

He was watching the evening news with Hank and Ororo the following day, when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and his shoulders tensed—Logan never texted.

_'Ready when u r'_

Scott checked his watch. It was 7 o'clock...

...his words from last night caught up with him, and a smile tugged as his lips;

_'You know how to text??'_

_'Fuck you one-eye. If ur not here in 5 I'm gone.'_

_'*you're'_

_'fcuk uyo'_

\---

Scott rubbed his face and looked down at his half-empty glass, then decided to pay and leave. This wasn't working and being out here made him feel shitty in the way that he feared; lonely and full of self pities.

He dug out his wallet and scanned the bar for the bartender, when his jaw almost dropped; a well-built man was sitting there, wearing a lumber jacket, a cigar tucked behind his ear, his hair messy and spiky...

Scott refused to believe it, it couldn't possibly be...

...it wasn't.

The spotlight from the dance floor lit the guy's face and of course not. He was looking straight at Scott when the light hit him, and caught him staring.

Scott looked away, telling himself that his glasses would have concealed his eyes, besides, the whole point of this place was to check other guys out, so maybe he should walk right over and _—_

—a younger guy came up to the man and started chatting with him. Scott took a sip of his beer, deciding he'd finish it first, then pay and leave.

\---

“You really want to do this?”

The danger room was left to default setting, revealing its matte-grey tiles, and Scott recognized the way that Logan's mouth twitched, suppressing a half-smile. He wasn't kidding yesterday.

“Don't you?” Logan raised a dark brow and held up the blindfold that he brought with him.

“I guess.”

Things have been going better than Scott had anticipated. After three months of one-on-one training, Logan had agreed to join the others in the Danger Room and two weeks later he rejoined field missions as well.

They even went on a run together over the weekend, which was Scott's idea and yet his jaw almost dropped when Logan not only accepted, but also suggested that they'd do it again.

It was over celebratory beers in the garden later that night, that Logan gestured with his bottle towards the horizon and asked him if that was Elmsford in the distance. Scott admitted that he couldn't see the distant city lights, which had won him a dubious glance from the other man.

It wasn't his favorite topic, but he found himself explaining that his sight was terrible in the dark, and that his combat visor was equipped with night vision for that reason.

 _'So if we'd get attacked out here?'_ the feral mutant pressed.

 _'Out here in the professor's patio?'_ Scott chuckled but Logan didn't blink. For a long minute only the crickets and the water fountain could be heard, _'...then we'd have a problem.'_ Scott admitted eventually.

So now Logan was adamant about training him blindfolded, and since it was his first initiative since Alcatraz Scott didn't have the heart to deny him, childhood trauma or not.

“Keep 'em closed,” Logan's voice brought him back to the present. He reached up and Scott's heart did a lurching thing; he didn't expect Logan to pluck the visor off his face himself, then replace it with the blindfold. Logan's heightened senses must have picked up on that because he said, “it's only us Slim, ain't nothing here you can damage.”

“I know.” his voice was tighter than intended; he could take off all of his clothes in public and still feel less naked and vulnerable than when being around other people without his eyewear. The only other time that Logan had seen his uncovered face was on top of the Statue of Liberty, and the circumstances back then were dire.

“You're okay,” Logan said as if reading his mind, his voice uncharacteristically gentle, “Come here,” taking hold of his shoulders he guided him towards what he gathered was the center of the Danger Room, and Scott getting disoriented so quickly in a space that he knew like the back of his hand spoke volumes of how overdue this session was.

So Scott forced himself to relax, and was surprised when their first blindfolded session turned out to be nothing more than a game of _tag you're it_ , only Scott was the only one doing the chasing, and Logan wasn't really trying to evade him.

By the fifth (and in hindsight life-changing) session, Scott remained completely calm when his visor was replaced with a blindfold, and his peripheral hearing kicked in immediately,

“Simulation today?” He felt ready.

“No,” he could hear Logan smile, “straight-up fight today.”

\---

“Are you done with that?”

The bartender pointed at his empty glass,

“Yeah, thanks.” Scott half-shouted. The music had been turned up and people had started dancing.

“Here, this one's on the house,” the bartender refilled his drink, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Thanks,” Scott accepted the cool glass, eyes darting to the rugged man on the opposite end of the bar. The younger guy who hit on him earlier was nowhere to be seen.

Ha, and just like that another guy tapped on his shoulder and introduced himself. The man was understandingly popular.

Scott took a sip of beer, low-key wishing that it had alcohol in it.

\---

“You ready?”

Scott's wordless reply had been to fall into a defensive crouch with both fists shielding his face.

He could hear Logan shifting, taking his own stance.

From the sound of it they were about 6 feet apart.

“Go!”

They remained locked in place for a long moment, Scott deciding against making the first move, until eventually, he heard the attack coming from his left.

Blindfolded, he couldn't intuit the angle of the blow, but he could gauge its height and had managed to block Logan's first punch with ease.

A second punch was thrown to his right and he blocked it too, then a third to his left again, at the exact same angle and height. The move was too obvious and predictable, and annoyed that Logan was cutting him slack Scott ducked, then hooked Logan with an arm and a precise kick to the back of his knee.

They went down, Scott throwing his weight onto Logan to ride him onto the mat. Caught unguarded, Logan's own weight worked against him, and he landed on his back.

Scott quickly pinned him down with a strategically placed arm,

“Tag, you're it.” he grinned down at him, victorious.

“ _Damn.”_

Scott eased his hold and Logan shifted beneath him, then the blindfold was pulled off and Scott's visor was carefully placed back into place.

He blinked his eyes open, expecting Logan to glare up at him, but Logan's smile matched his own—it was the proud kind of smile, that one that was usually reserved for Marie alone,

“That was a dirty trick Summers. Well done.” Logan dropped his head back to the mat and went still beneath him, his ragged breaths coming out of his thin, soft-looking lips in gushes, and actually feeling good about himself for the first time in forever, Scott moved in for a kiss _—_

—he caught himself immediately, before the initiative had a chance to translate into action, and rolled off Logan.

“Good workout,” he heard himself say in some far-off land as he got up and offered Logan a helping hand.

 _What the actual fuck?_ He asked himself as soon as they were done rolling the mats and collecting their towels and water bottles.

 _It was just a brain hiccup_ , he decided as he followed Logan out of the danger room. He used to end his one-on-one sessions with Jean with a quick peck on the lips, and coming down from an adrenaline rush his muscle-memory kicked in.

That was all there was to it.

“Same time tomorrow?” Logan asked, and if Scott was right, then why was the urge to kiss him still there?

\---

And that's how it all began.

Scott had managed to deny it for a full week before admitting to himself that he was attracted to Logan, then did his best to suppress it. He'd seen Logan hit on Jean—when the Wolverine wanted someone he _went_ for it. He clearly wasn't into guys, or at least not into Scott.

Only suppressing his heart's desire manifested itself in other ways, until two months later Scott was left with no choice but to acknowledge that he was feeling lonely, horny and irritable, and that these feelings weren't about to go away on their own.

So he'd done his research, both on the physical side of things, as well as the practical side of how to hook up with someone in rural Westchester, and even though he didn't expect much out of tonight, now he was thinking that the rugged stranger with his lumberjack's alpha-male vibe might be able to scratch this itch for him.

Not giving himself a chance to change his mind, he grabbed his half-empty glass to go, but when he looked up he discovered that the man had already left. So much for that.

He set down his glass.

It was still half full, its content lukewarm and sour, with a hoppy aftertaste. Scott was done with it. With all of it. He reached for this wallet,

“Seat's free?”

He turned his head. The rugged man was standing right beside him, tall and well build and smelling of cigar smoke. Up close he wasn't the spitting image of Logan, plus his face was cleaned shaved, his hair and eyes were black, and his accent was American—and still, Scott's heart was slamming in his chest just looking at him,

“Um, yeah.” he grabbed his trademark leather jacket and moved it out of the way, clearing the seat for the stranger while telling himself to calm down—it wasn't like he'd never been hit on before; the last time was literally half an hour ago.

“It's your first time here.” It wasn't a question. Nice.

The man made a small head gesture and the bartender came over to take his order, “A double whiskey for me and a,” his eyes darted to Scott's glass to check the logo on it, “Ugh god. Make that two double whiskeys.”

This time the bartender didn't wait for Scott to accept, and simply served them the drinks. Scott wondered if the barman was responding to the stranger's assertiveness, or whether Scott had been gawking the entire evening, making his intentions clear.

“Matt,” the man introduced himself and raised his glass,

“Scott,” he mirrored the gesture, which gave him less than a second to decide: he could either drink and loosen up, or call it a night and go home alone.

He always suspected that he wouldn't be able to divorce sex from feelings and the fragile moment confirmed as much; Scott was as attracted to the guy as he was sad that it wasn't Logan who'd bought him this drink.

Drinking it was.

“Where ya from?” Matt asked, amusement dancing in his eyes when Scott set down his near-empty glass.

“Salem Center.”

“Purdys?”

“Ah no. It's a private estate.”

Matt raised a questioning brow at him.

“It's like a, um. It's a boarding school. I teach there.” Shit, this was a bad idea. Scott finished his whiskey and reached for his phone;

...only his face was reflected on the otherwise dark screen, and Scott was reminded that he switched it off, and more importantly _why_ he switched it off.

“A school teacher? Nice. That's a first.” The corners of Matt's lips twitched and he made a hand gesture towards Scott's glass. It was almost instantly replaced with a refill, the bartender winking at him as he cleared the empty one.

“Eye condition?” he gestured at Scott's eyewear.

“Yes.”

There were no follow-up questions, much to Scott's relief, “So to what do I owe the pleasure? I could have crowd-surfed my way to where you sat with so many guys crammed around you.”

It made Matt burst out laughing, which wasn't something that the other man looked capable of, and Scott smiled, proud of his silly little joke. The alcohol was definitely going to his head.

“They were all talking their heads off, it was painful really.”

Scott nodded, making a point of keeping his mouth shut and Matt chuckled, then leaned in until their knees were touching under the bar. Scott didn't mind it.

“Okay, that sounded bad, but I had a long day. I came here to unwind you know?”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” Scott too, wasn't in the mood for chit-chat. That wasn't what he came here for. “You're not drinking?” he pointed at the man's still full glass.

“Well. The plan was to get trashed and call a cab, but now I'm thinking that I'll drive you to my place instead. Am I wrong?” he noticed the way Scott tensed.

“Um, no.” _Whoa._ The guy was direct... which was probably a good thing, “I mean yes to your place. No, you're not wrong”

“Good.”Matt pushed his own still full glass towards him, “So. How come it's your first time here? You got a girlfriend or something?”

“I could have gone to other bars.” Scott pointed out, accepting the drink.

“Not living in Salem Center you couldn't.” Matt countered with a wry grin.

“I don't have a girlfriend.”

“A boyfriend then?” Matt shrugged when Scott froze with the drink in mid-air, “I'm not judging.”

The statement would have annoyed Scott, only this was exactly how he imagined Logan hitting on random strangers in all of the times that he 'borrowed' his motorcycle and vanished into the night, so he actually found it kinda hot.

“No boyfriend either. But um... I still see him. I mean we work together, which sucks.” it wasn't a lie per se. Scott wasn't even sure why he said that, but was disappointed when Matt showed no interest in the details,

“Ouch. Here's to working with exes,” he toasted, but only Scott ended up taking a long sip, feeling frustrated and unable to explain why.

“ _mph_ — _”_ As soon as he set down his glass Matt pulled him close and leaned forward to meet him halfway.

Scott's eyes widened behind the ruby lenses, this wasn't how he imagined his first same-sex kiss, but hey at least he was ticking that box, so he closed his eyes and parted his lips and sucked on the other man's tongue, tasting whiskey and tobacco and trying to like it, but he couldn't help but to eventually flinch away.

“Let's get out of here, this music sucks,” Matt misread him pulling back and Scott blinked, feeling sluggish. He might have underestimated the alcohol volume in his drinks.

Matt pushed back his stool and stood up, looking down at him questioningly, and like... he didn't really want to, but also—he was undeniably half-hard... which could have been down to the fact that no one had kissed him in two long, lonely years... but wasn't it more likely that he was just attracted to the guy?

And who said that first times had to be perfect anyway? If the sex would be bad then Scott would know what to improve on with the next guy, it would be a starting point.

“Let's.”

\---

Outside the temperature had dropped enough that Scott was chilly in his leather jacket and he hugged himself as he followed Matt to his SUV, his legs feeling wobbly.

The parking lot was lively with couples who were making out in their cars to the sound of the muffled basses coming from inside. Some guys were out on a cigarette break. A stray cat zigzagged between the cars and Scott stopped short and followed it with his eyes, almost forgetting where he was,

“Come here,” Matt tugged on his arm, then pressed him against the SUV and kissed him messily, before tearing his mouth away to lick and suck on his neck instead.

“No idea what these guys were thinking going after me, you're the best looking guy to visit the Havana in a very long while. You're gorgeous Scott.” Matt pressed a thigh between his legs, probably content to learn that he was hard... only thing was, in the dark parking lot it became even more obvious that Matt was the same height and built as Logan—it was so easy to close his eyes and imagine that they were in the Danger Room... Should he feel bad? Does it even matter as long as they both get what they want out of it?

“ _Can't wait to tear your clothes off,”_ Matt pressed his lips against Scott's ear to whisper, and Scott wished he hadn't; his non-Canadian accent was a turn-off.

“Me too.” he heard himself reply in some far-off land. Did he really mean it? Maybe he was lying, but he doubted Matt would care.

“You cold? Hang on,”

Scott shivered while Matt fumbled with the key, then unlocked the passenger door for him,

“Let's get out of here.”

The cold had a sobering effect on Scott, and as he walked around the car he quickly memorized its number, then pulled out his phone so that he could send Hank the registration plate along with a message that read 'just in case'.

Should he even get into the guy's car if that was his gut feeling?

“Scott? Come on.”

Guess it didn't matter because he was getting in. Matt pulled into reverse and the motion made Scott dizzy. How many did he have? Two double whiskies at the very least, then most of Matt's neglected drink...

He was notorious among the other x-men for being the world's biggest lightweight, and now his head was swimming and his fingers fumbled with his phone clumsily.

_Come on,_

He tightened his hold on the device, narrowing his eyes against the glare of the white apple that refused to be replaced by the home screen.

Finally!

...Scott blinked.

He had more messages displayed on his lock-screen than he could count.

“Everything okay?” Matt asked, his attention on the road,

“Yeah, just a work thing.”

He unlocked his phone. Ten unread messages from Logan. A smile spread across his face uncontrollably, but first thing first—he had to text Hank the plate number... only he didn't have any reception.

No wonder, considering that they were in the middle of nowhere, driving through the pitch dark woods.

He opened his message history with Hank and typed in the plate number before he'd forget, then opened his messages with Logan,

_'What the fuck Summers, running was ur idea'_

_'sorry YOUR idea'_

_'what's wrong with your phone?'_

_'chuck said ur in the DR??'_

_'*You're'_

_'only furball and ice cube r in the DR. U better not be on amission.'_

_'Im not joking Slim im gonna kill you if u went on a solo mission without telling anyone'_

_'Scott.'_

_'im not really pissed'_

_'Just text me ur ok.'_

Scott's eyes burned, he wasn't okay. He was forcing himself to go through with something that he suspected was more of a self-inflicted punishment than a 'solution' to his sexual frustration.

He was too drunk to lie to himself now; he was furious that his treacherous heart had chosen Logan.

It took him two long, lonely years to finally crave intimacy once more, so of course he went ahead and crushed on a guy who was too straight to brush his hair, text complete sentences, or drink anything but beer.

_'Just text me ur ok.'_

Scott was breathing too fast, his motion sickness intensifying. The heating in the car was on full blast and suddenly he felt like he might puke,

“I don't feel so good.”

“Better?” Matt rolled down his window. The chilly draft coming from outside carried his aftershave, the scent foreign and sharp.

“No.” He wanted to text Logan. He wanted to go home. “I'm sorry, something came up, I have to go.”

“Go? We're kinda in the middle of nowhere.” Matt chuckled, his expression a cross between amusement and confusion.

“I'm sorry,” Scott said. They were slowing down at a red stop and he reached for the handle,

“Whoa, wait!” Matt slammed on the breaks when Scott opened the door, “What's wrong with you! Get back in the car!”

“I'm really sorry,” Scott practically stumbled out of the SUV then swayed, steadying himself against its door.

“ _Scott!”_ Matt called, but the light changed to green and a truck was fast approaching, honking for him to get moving. Slamming his fist against the steering wheel Matt shifted into gear and drove off, leaving Scott cold, drunk, and immensely relieved that he wasn't going through with this twisted game of chicken.

He checked his phone. Still no signal.

The junction was well lit, but all of the roads leading to it were dark.

Still, Scott knew exactly where to go, his ears perfectly attuned to his surroundings thanks to his recent workout routine.

\---

It took him over thirty minutes, but the music coming from the club was getting louder and he could already see the parking lot spotlights in the distance. He kept on checking his phone, but the country road had no cellular network coverage, and more worrying, using his phone as a flashlight made the battery run critically low.

Headlights lit the road as a car appeared in the distance, coming from the direction of the club. The driver honked as he drove past him but didn't slow. Scott checked his phone again—

_Yes._

He dialed the number and prayed that his battery would last,

“Hello? Scott?”

“Hank,”

“It's late, where—”

“—Quick, phone's almost dead. Get a truck and pick me up from 5 June Road, 10560, my bike will have to go in the back. That's 5 June Road, 10560, got it?”

“...”

“...hello?” Scott looked down at the blacked-out screen.

As if mocking him, a lightning lit the sky.

A few seconds later a thunder rumbled and it started drizzling.

Just great.

\---

The drizzle only lasted a couple of minutes, but by the time Scott made his way back to the club he was so cold that waiting outside wasn't an option. He didn't even know whether Hank had heard him before they got cut off.

Plan b was to find a spot overlooking the bar's entrance and wait there until Hank came to get him, or, if he wasn't gonna show, until Scott sobered up.

The bar severed food during daytime, and had booths and tables scattered around the dance floor. Feeling disoriented and unpleasantly drunk Scott sat at the table closest to the door, which luckily was free.

“But of course,” it soon became obvious why no one wanted that spot—every time someone walked in or out of the bar Scott was greeted by a cold gush of wind. He zipped up his leather jacket, hugged himself for warmth, and waited.

The longer he sat there, the more he realized how dangerously drunk he'd been earlier, and how uncharacteristically irresponsible his actions were today. Leaving without notice, switching off his phone, getting into a strange man's car when he was clearly too drunk to make that call—drinking in the first place when he knew that he should stay sober... idiot.

He should have known that tonight was a facade for self-punishment; he'd never take time off work to indulge. His conscience wouldn't allow it; what if there was an emergency?

What good could he have been tonight, after tossing back so many drinks?

Oh god—did he even pay for his tab? He couldn't remember doing so, probably too preoccupied with trying to decide whether he wanted to bang a complete stranger in an unknown location or not. He rose to his feet,

“ _Ah, shit...”_ front pocket... back pocket... nothing, “Fuck. Shit.” he patted all of his pockets for the second time but found no wallet.

He was going to have to ask Hank for yet another favor... he cringed at the thought, then sank back into the chair. Rubbed his arms as the door opened once more, letting in the chill. For a second there he almost forgot to check, then his eyes darted up to see if it was Hank who'd arrived.

 _Matt?_ His stomach dropped, but then the night really took a turn to the worse because last he saw him, Matt was cleaned shaved and his hair and eyes were black... _oh god._

Scott wished that the ground would open and swallow him up, but it remained solid underneath his sneakers, and so he got to sit there, frozen in place, and watch the expression on Logan's face as he scanned the dance floor in search of him. The feral man moved out of the way of a couple of guys who couldn't keep their hands off each other, and momentarily Scott's view was blocked...

...but Logan was still there when they left, his hazel eyes fixated on Scott.

Scott straightened in his seat, heart pounding.

He wasn't sure what to expect as Logan crossed the short distance, and almost jumped when he landed a hand on his shoulder,

“Hey. You okay?”

Scott looked up. Logan didn't look angry or amused, just worried.

“Yeah. I need to pay my tab,”

“Stay here, I'll get it.” Logan interrupted, sparing him the awkwardness of having to ask.

Scott nodded, not trusting his voice. He hung his head and closed his burning eyes while he waited for Logan to settle the bill. God, he felt like shit; the entire room span, and the loud music caused a thumping feeling in his chest.

“Ready?” Logan's hand landed on his shoulder once more and Scott's head jerked up—that was fast.

Still not trusting his voice, he nodded and got up. To his relief, he somehow managed to do so without swaying.

Logan used the hold on his shoulder to turn him around, until they were facing each other, then gave him a quick once-over. Scott felt like squirming under the penetrating gaze, but all he could recognize in Logan's eyes was concern. He must have looked too drunk to even account to whether he was injured.

“You're okay.” Logan squeezed his shoulder, voice gentle, like it was on that first blindfolded session, the one that started it all.

Ha.

Scott kept telling himself that all of his memories from before and after Jean were painful ones, but another drunken truth had just dawned on him.

The last five of months were pretty damn... well, _wholesome_. His nightmares were gone, his appetite was back, his mood was brighter, and his and Logan's ongoing banter had actually made him laugh for the first time in god knows how long... this wasn't about sex. He could screw every guy in this bar, hell, in Westchester—and still want to be with Logan when it was all said and done.

His heart ached.

He moved out of Logan's reach and made his way to the door, eyes dangerously wet, then waited outside, blinking fast and taking deep, shuddering breathes.

“Where are you parked?” Logan appeared beside him.

Scott didn't reply, just turned his back on Logan and started walking. Logan silently followed, instead of getting annoyed with him like Scott hoped that would.

He stopped by his bike and Logan nodded, “Get in the truck, I'll get it.”

Scott would have normally argued, but he was struggling to stay upright.

\---

The truck's cab was warmer and still, his teeth were chattering. It wasn't just the cold; he felt like scum, unworthy of Logan being so goddamn supportive.

Had Logan known what went down tonight, what _really_ went down—Scott's chest tightened. _Stop it,_ he begged his drunken mind, Logan didn't know, would never know, unless Scott told him—and he wasn't going to.

Tonight would never repeat itself, he vowed as Logan climbed in. He was done with bars, one-night stands, and anything that wasn't directly related to the team. If his feelings interfered with his duties it was only because Scott had allowed them to. Never again.

Desperate to end this misadventure, he impatiently stared out his window while waiting for Logan to start the engine, but nothing happened so he turned around to urge,

“...Logan?”

The feral man had one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the key, but he was frozen in place, eyes narrowed.

“Was the other guy drunk?” he suddenly asked, the words piercing the air in the dimly lit cab.

Scott needn't ask how he knew, he could still smell Matt's aftershave on his body and it made him want to take only the shallowest of breaths. He wasn't sure if he really expected an answer, but when Logan's eyes darted up to meet his own Scott drunkenly supplied,

“No. He was driving.”

Logan's hands tightened on the steering wheel but he said nothing else. Eventually, he sent a hand to the back of his seat, blindly searching for something,

“Here,” he dropped a blanket into Scott's lap and gunned the engine.

Lightning flashed as they pulled out of the parking lot, and a few seconds later it began hammering down.

But of course he didn't check the forecast. Scott had set himself for failure from the get-go.

He wrapped himself up in the blanket and leaned against the door, his face hot, his heart pounding.


	2. Waterlogged

Scott woke up the following day to the sound of rain, feeling worse than he expected. He had a very vague memory of how he got back to his room, but unfortunately a very clear memory of everything else that took place. A bottle of aspirin and a glass of water were waiting for him on his nightstand. He drowned two tablets and went back to sleep.

A thunder roll woke him again up at noon, and still smelling a trace of Matt's aftershave he made his way to the shower, but froze in horror in front of the mirror;

A big, unmissable hickey marked the base of his neck.

_Oh god._ His fingers tightened on the sink until his knuckles turned white. For a moment he was certain he'd be sick, but it came and went, leaving him nauseated and angry at himself.

\---

“Logan!” Hank spotted him from across the dining room and carried his tray to where he sat, “Thanks for volunteering yesterday!”

“Don't mention it. How's Alison?”

“Oh, it's a fracture alright. She doesn't like it, but she'll have to sit out acrobatics for a while.”

“Hmm.”

The whole thing was Furball's fault, really.

The blue-furred doctor had been tied up in the infirmary when Scott called, so if Summers ended up being distant and aloof once more, the way Logan predicted that he would after last night, he'd have Furball to blame.

It took them three whole years to make this breakthrough and now they were probably back to square one.

“Hi Logan, you heard the news?”

Marie landed her tray beside him and Bobby followed suit, “We're going on a mission!” he beat her to it, face glowing.

“Not so fast,” Hank chuckled at their enthusiasm, “We're just a stand-by for now.”

“Which is ridiculous,” 'Ro took a seat beside Furball. She didn't carry a tray, only an apple, “Who's better equipped to handle a flood than us?” she took a juicy bite.

“A Flood?” Logan rubbed his face tiredly. He didn't get much sleep last night, and his attempt at having a quiet lunch on his own was failing miserably. He cast a glance at the big windows behind him; it'd been a rainy Saturday afternoon, no different to any other grey, rainy day that month.

“Severe thunderstorms are drenching New York City,” Hank noticed his effort, “they may need our help. The Professor is briefing Scott as we speak.”

“Oh yeah?” that got his attention, he hasn't seen Scott since he helped him out of his jacket and sneakers, and into bed. Could the boy-scout even go on a mission today?

_//I need to see you all in my office//_ Chuck's voice rang in their heads.

Guess he was about to find out.

\---

A lightening lit Wheels' office as they entered.

Nightcrawler was already there, standing on Wheels’ left, while Scott, in a black turtleneck, was standing to his right. They were going over some coordinates _._

Logan was seeing it upside down, but the NYPD logo at the top of the fax was unmistakable.

He discreetly sniffed the air. No traces of alcohol, only the faint scent of medicines. Summers was sober and sore.

“Good, you're all here.” Scott said, already in his Cyclops mode, his voice as assertive as ever, “Bobby, please close the door. Thank you. I bet you all heard the rumor by now, we were contacted by the NYPD early this morning after the intense rainfall had caused a flood in Downtown Manhattan. A lot of citizens are trapped in their homes and the authorities are struggling to get to them.”

Scott's gaze jumped from Ice Cube to 'Ro, “They've heard that we can manipulate water, and are now asking for our help. Ororo, will we be able to take off in these conditions?”

'Ro looked out the window and her eyes turned white...

“...I can make it happen, but Hank will have to take over as co-pilot.”

“Okay, good. Then we will leave in 15 minutes, go suit up.”

“Me too?”

“Problem, Wolverine?”

“I can't manipulate water.”

“Can you swim?”

“ _Yes.”_

“Then see you in fifteen.” Scott said, his face not giving away anything but urgency.

“Sure thing, Cyke.” Logan flashed him a wry smile because fuck it.

Let the boy-scout have things his way.

\---

Once in the Jet, McCoy read him the coordinates and Summers fed the information into the GPS.

Eyes completely white, ‘Ro hit a switch and the basketball court above them shifted. As it slid open, the downpour cascaded freely into the hangar, hitting the Jet violently.

Taking off in these conditions seemed insane, and yet Summers was punching some buttons and the jet’s roar mixed with the metallic clatter of falling rain. With Storm’s help, they took off, Scott and Hank at the controls.

\---

“ _This is the last one.”_ Cyke’s voice rang in his earpiece, raspy with tiredness.

Finally.

Logan waded in ankle-high dark water towards the headquarters. He was cold and dead-tired, but hey, at least he wasn't hung-over.

For over three hours they've worked alongside the New York fire and police departments.

‘Ro’s ability to slow the rain had brought on the much-needed status quo; Drake’s improvised ice dams had allowed safe passage to the scene; Wagner was obviously involved in the extrication efforts, while Logan got paired to the superintendent who was in charge of evacuating the injured.

This meant that he got to spend most of his time carrying stretchers from the damaged buildings to the medical tent, where Furball was posted, his medical qualifications keeping him away from the chaos.

Now, the flow of rescued citizens was finally tapering off, and Scott’s words had confirmed as much. It was over.

“ _Are we done here?”_ Ice-cube sounded exhausted.

“ _Almost. We’ll gather at the headquarters in five minutes.”_

“Wolverine, wait!” the superintendent called, “I can’t thank you enough for your help tonight,”

He stuck out his hand,

“No worries.” Logan grinned and shook it, enjoying the use of his nickname; a long way from the days some sixpenny announcer used his moniker to announce upcoming cage fights.

They nodded their farewells and Logan left to rejoin the team.

\---

It was dark as sin outside, and with the operation completed Storm freed the skies from her restraint, letting the heavy rain wash the streets.

Logan made his way towards the headquarters, shielding his eyes from the bright flashing lights of the emergency vehicles that were parked out front. The headquarters were just an extra-large, waterproof tent, yet soaked to the bone _—_ it was the prettiest tent that Logan had ever seen.

Inside the massive structure were different types of transceivers, medical supplies, and way too many high ranks for Logan's liking. Within the sea of blue uniforms, he spotted the black ones that matched his own, down to the yellow hi-vis armbands.

A feeling of belonging washes over him, and he liked it more than he’d ever admit. He pushed wet bangs out of his face and approach them.

Bobby was the first to catch his eye, but he barely seemed aware of his surroundings. Logan had spotted at least five melting blocks of ice on his way in, and from the looks of it the teenager was exhausted. Before Logan could blink Furball had joined Bobby's side, handing him hot tea and draping a blanket over his shoulders.

Even though the doctor had spent most of his time in an improvised medical tent, his fur was wet and plastered to his large body in dipping patches. His big feet were meeting the ground with wet smooching sounds.

“Logan!” McCoy noticed him, “How are you, my friend?” His eyes were heavy and red and Logan dismissed him in favor of patients who were in actual need of medical care.

He found Storm and Nightcrawler sitting on big wooden boxes carrying NYPD stamps. They too were soaking wet and wrapped in grey, military-style blankets.

No longer exerting physical strength, Logan realized that he was freezing as well, “What are we waiting for?”

The only reply was a head gesture and Logan's eyes follow the imaginary trail;

Two high ranks were debriefing Summers, and Logan stopped and stared.

Scott looked pale in the dim artificial light, and far more serious than someone his age should be—like the weight of the entire world rested on his shoulders. It stood in complete contrast to his behavior last night.

When Logan first met the guy, he assumed that Scott and Cyclops were one and the same. Then the more he got to know him, the more he suspected that Summers was groomed, then peer pressured into keeping his Fearless facade 24/7, to never let loose... but it came with a price.

Logan sighed.

It was none of his business... but god. Scott was _trashed_ last night _._ Struggling to stand levels of trashed.

He searched his team leader's neck from afar... the collar of his uniform was high enough to cover the massive mark that some random guy had left on him.

Logan frowned; Scott's dark hair was dripping water onto his visor, his high, chiseled cheekbones were tinted red by the ambient light coming from behind the ruby lens, and his full lips were pressed together as he listened closely to what was being said... And therein lied Logan's problem; Summers was too damn pretty to allow himself to lose control like that in places like this.

Did he hate that he cared? He sure did, but come on—the other guy was sober?! What kind of a fucktart would sleep with someone who was clearly too drunk to make that call? Were they even being safe? The thought made Logan sick, made him want to walk to where Scott stood and smack the back of his head, right there in front of the two officers.

He was feeling like it again when he took his seat behind Scott on board the Blackbird, hands twitching with the need to shake some sense into his stubborn field leader.

And yes, he could see how this was unavoidable _—_ anyone under so much pressure would eventually have to blow off steam, but there was blowing off steam, and there was jumping into strangers' beds half-conscious and completely vulnerable.

“I'm ready when you are,” 'Ro said.

Hank was too exhausted to navigate, and so she replaced him at the controls as Scott's co-pilot.

“Clear to take off,” Scott replied.

_Oh_.

Logan's eyes widened.

He had an idea.

\---

“Scott, wait up!”

As always, Summers was the last to leave the hanger, making sure to fill in all of the post-flight logs first.

“Logan. Everything's okay?” Scott asked, a frozen expression on his face.

“Everything's just peachy. Say, when are you going out next?”

“Sorry?”

“When will you be going out next?” Logan repeated, slower this time.

A shadow passed over Scott's face, “Going out where?”

“Out clubbing.”

“I _wasn't_ out clubbing.” Scott snapped, his voice tight, but Logan refused to be impressed,

“Okay,” he flashed him a smile, enjoying the way the high cheekbones darkened, “then when are you going out _not_ clubbing?”

Scott snorted, “What do you care?”

“I thought I'd come with.”

“Come with,” Scott echoed dryly.

“Yes!” Logan couldn't help but grin; he never thought he'd see Fearless at a loss for words.

Scott pressed his lips together and color blotched his cheeks. He let out an exasperated breath and Logan realized a second too late that he thought that he was being mocked,

“Very funny,” he turned his back on him and made his way to the exit,

“I mean it!” Logan caught up with him, “This could be fun!”

“Fun?” Scott turned abruptly, looking ready to punch him,

“Yes, Slim. Fun.” Logan said, keeping his face straight, and Scott's fists unclenched by his sides, his expression unfathomable,

“...You really want to come with?” Scott gave him a suspicious stare.

“Yep. I could be your wingman.”

“You wanna be... my wingman?” The look on Scott's face was comical, and Logan would have laughed if he wasn't worried that he'd offend him again,

“Yes, now stop repeating everything that I say!”

“Are you having a stroke Logan? Should I go get Hank?” Scott gestured with his thumb towards the hanger's door behind him.

“You shouldn't be out there on your own. I bet you have a terrible taste in men.”

“ _...you can say that again.”_ Scott mumbled, face darkening, and Logan's mind drifted back to the sober son of bitch that Scott slept with last night. He said that the guy drove him somewhere...? Logan almost visibly shuddered.

“Exactly. I'll be there to scan the room, talk you up, be the voice of reason, you know—wingman stuff.” _Also, keep you sober enough to give consent,_ Logan added in his head.

“You? Talking me up?”

“Don't I always?”

Scott just stared at him.

“Okay, don't I sometimes?”

“Ha.” Summers was gritting his teeth, like in spite of it all Logan had managed to offend him by offering his help.

“Um... hey. We don't have to if you think it's a bad idea.” Logan was beginning to regret the whole thing—Scott looked genuinely upset, but then he surprised him by saying,

“No, I think that we should.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. If you want to be my wingman, we should go for it.”

Scott sounded as reluctant as Logan suddenly felt, but seeing it was his idea he said, “Great. Same place, Friday at seven?”

“Sure.”

And this time Logan didn't follow him as he left the hanger.

...What the fuck did he just do?

Tired and cold, he decided to shove the whole thing into a mental drawer and not open it till Friday. Also, get out of his wet uniform before he froze to death.

He left the hanger, goosebumps covering his body at the very thought of a hot shower.


	3. Aboot last night

Logan scowled at the pile of clothes on his bed, his hair still dripping water from the shower he took. He didn't give a rat's ass what the people in the club would think of him, but he also didn't want to embarrass Scott.

He settled for his least worn-out pair of jeans, then tucked a black vest into it. It was a good look, but seeing that it was meant to snow over the weekend he pulled a black and grey flannel shirt out of his closet, then decided to leave it unbuttoned—the place was smoldering hot last time, when he picked Scott up.

It was the memory of Scott sitting there, pale, disoriented, and smelling like a pub, that made Logan go through with what he very soon realized was a terrible idea.

He hated hipster bars, pick-up joints, and the very idea of sending Summers off to screw a complete stranger _—_ and if tonight goes according to plan he'd get to tick all of these boxes.

Who even knew that Summers was into men? Ever since Jean, their uptight team leader acted like he didn't have carnal needs altogether.

But more importantly, why didn't Scott trust him with his secret? Logan thought that they had gotten pretty damn close, and was proud to consider Summers a friend... Guess that the last couple of months really were just about training and team building for him.

Fuck it.

He was going to keep Fearless sober, send him on his merry way, then head back home.

Running a towel through his hair one last time, he left his room and made his way to the garage.

The sooner he'd get tonight out of the way the better.

\---

They've agreed to meet at six, and of course that the boy-scout was there on time.

Annoyed as he'd been about the whole thing, Logan couldn't stay grumpy when he saw Scott.

The guy was dressed in a tight pair of jeans and a soft-looking blue shirt, and smelled of soap, mint, and some clean-smelling cologne that Logan never smelled on him before. He looked and smelled good enough to eat, which would make Logan's job of delivering him to some lucky guy even easier, and therefore tonight even shorter.

Good.

“You cleaned up nicely from eating my dust.” Logan took a step forward, making a point of towering over Scott.

“You were literally five seconds ahead, Logan.” Scott shook his head and went to fetch the car key from the key-cabinet.

“Yep. Adamantium skeleton and I still run faster than you.”

“Maybe I let you win.” Scott said offhandedly while detangling two sets of keys.

“And why would you do that?”

“Age before beauty?” he shrugged as he closed the cabinet, then scrambled the code to the combination lock.

Logan glowered at his back and Scott's shoulders bounced as he struggled to stifle a laugh.

Unable to resist the temptation a second longer, Logan crossed the short distance to gently slap the back of Scott's head—which immediately backfired because he didn't want to know that his hair was so damn soft. Also, unsurprisingly, it made Summers whine,

“Hey! Watch the glasses!”

“Watch your mouth. I'm driving.” he snatched the key out of Scott's hand.

“Whatever makes you feel in control, old man.”

“Brat. I'm also choosing the music.” Logan unlocked the car.

“Maybe in another lifetime, Wolverine.”

“For all we know I'm immortal.”

“Exactly.” Scott got into the passenger seat and turned on the radio.

Smiling to himself, Logan walked around to the driver's side. This was fun, like texting the guy only in person.

“You smell nice.” he couldn't help but comment as he entered the car and was greeted again by the scent of Summer's cologne.

“Thanks, it was a Christmas gift.”

Logan frowned as he gunned the engine.

Scott's been single for two Christmases straight, and the X-Men wouldn't have gotten him something this personal... so it must have been one of the guys that he'd been secretly seeing.

“Well whoever got you this, they have a good taste.” Logan said, hoping that he didn't sound as bitter as he felt.

“True... Jean got it for me. Don't know why I haven't used it before.” Scott's voice trailed off and Logan could feel it too, his chest suddenly tightening.

Out loud he said, “Well done Jeannie.” and put the car into gear, wondering if she would have approved of him chaperoning tonight.

He has a feeling that the answer was yes.

\---

“Take the next left,”

Scott instructed and Logan gritted his teeth. They were debating whether the NFL should fully guarantee the contracts of injured players (nope!), when Scott interrupted, reminding Logan where they were headed, and what tonight was about.

The signs along the way still read _The Westchester Sports Club,_ and Logan decided that it was probably for the best, making it harder for drunk, straight, red-necks to accidentality turn up at a gay bar.

 _Don't go there,_ he told himself, casting a quick sideways glance to the passenger seat.

Like he needed more reasons to feel protective of the guy... Then, ignoring his own good advice, he said,

“I didn't know you're into men.”

“...Me neither.” he could see Scott shrugging from the corner of his eye.

“So this is new?”

“I guess it is.”

“How new?”

“I don't know Logan. What does it matter.”

“It doesn't.” It wasn't a question, but he was clearly making Cyke uncomfortable, which made it important to say.

Arriving at their destination Logan parked the car, lost in thoughts. For all he knew, he was the only one who was in on Scott's secret. Maybe that made them friends after all?

“Logan.” Scott opened the door but remained seated, “If this is some sort of a joke... Ugh, just promise not to act like an ass and embarrass me in there.”

...maybe not.

Logan raised a hand, “I'll behave, Slim.”

Scott sighed like he didn't believe him, but got out of the car nevertheless.

Logan followed suit.

\---

It was still early and the place was empty, save for a couple of guys at the bar who were morosely drinking their beers to kill time.

Logan ordered two 4.6% beers and asked to see the food menu.

“What? We skipped dinner,” he said when he felt Scott's eyes on him, “besides, you shouldn't be drinking on an empty stomach.” Logan busied himself with paying for the drinks while he lectured Scott on how to drink responsibly. They never spoke about the other night, and he sure as hell wasn't going to start now. Logan was just happy that the hickey on Scott's neck had faded away, so that he wouldn't have to think about the dickass who gave it to him every time he looked his way.

“Hell no,” he said when Scott took a long sip then carried his drink towards the bar by the wall, “I'm not seating on these backless, spinning leather Frisbees.”

Logan carried his own drink to the opposite side of the dance floor,

“Fucking hipster bars. I've never seen bar stools this damn small before,” he grumbled as he chose a booth in a cozy location away from the draughty entrance, knowing without looking that Scott was right behind him.

“Better?” he asked with a triumphant smile as they sank into the comfortable leather seats.

“Better.” Scott admitted from across the table, and even accepted the menu that Logan had passed to him. Although Logan was pretty damn sure that his best ally in Scott's sudden shift in mood was alcohol; Summers was making a quick job of drinking his beer, like he was intentionally trying to get hammered.

What the hell was wrong with him? Back home the guy wouldn't even touch freshly squeezed orange juice because of the sugar levels in it, but alcohol didn't count in his book?

“I'm gonna grab us some water, be right back.”

Logan went to the bar and ordered two bottles of water to counter the booze. He paid the outrageous hipster bar prices and made his way back to the table, but stopped short when he saw a guy standing by their booth and grinning down at Scott.

And what's worse, Scott was grinning right back at him _—_ like he was enjoying the attention, and not like the guy was about to interrupt their dinner.

“Hey,” Logan said flatly as he walked past the stranger, practically shouldering him out of the way to reclaim his seat opposite Scott, “Here's your water, Slim.”

“Um, thanks.” Scott said in a flat voice, looking confused. He made a tiny head gesture towards the stranger who was still standing there, looking uncomfortable,

“Need anything, bub?” Logan glared up at the guy.

Eyes widening, the guy shook his head _no_ and left.

“Drink your water.” he pushed the bottle towards Scott, but Scott pushed it right back,

“What the hell was that Logan?”

“What? The guy was a deadbeat, you can do way better than him. Also, I'm starving.”

“Don't do that again!” Scott reached across the table to jab Logan's shoulder with his finger,

“Don't flirt with deadbeats.” Logan shrugged and reached up to grab Scott by the wrist, but Summers was just pulling back and Logan ended up grasping his hand instead.

It was warm and strong, and didn't belong anywhere near that obnoxious hipster's cock.

“...Logan?” Scott was frozen in place, pink lips slightly parted, and Logan let go of his hand and cleared his throat, “You know what you're having?”

Scott pulled back sharply, as if Logan's grip had hurt him,

“The classic burger. You?”

“Same.”

“Okay, I'll go order _—_ dinner's on me. I still owe you for picking up my tab.” Scott said and got up.

It was the first time that one of them referred to the other night, and being reminded of it Logan sighed. He watched Summers' back as he made his way to the tills. The place got more crowded now, and some guy would be talking to Scott at the bar, he just knew it... only this time Logan was specifically instructed not to get involved.

Not that he cared. The whole point of tonight was for Scott to hook up with someone so that Logan could go home. He just wanted to have a nice, undisturbed meal with the guy first. Then maybe a couple of drinks. Then maybe take Summers back home with him, because none of these deadbeats were good enough to even admire his good looks from afar.

Logan rubbed his face tiredly, what the hell was he doing here? But then he was reminded;

Scott was heading back to their booth when some creep approached him, just like Logan had predicted.

“Hi gorgeous!” he hollered and Logan was getting ready to stab the guy, but when searching the crowd he almost burst out laughing instead;

An old, frumpy drunk struggled to stay upright as he tried to make a beeline towards Scott, and was quickly ushered back to his table by his friends.

Logan did his best not to giggle when Scott rejoined him at the booth;

“I know you don't want to hear it, but you can do better than that guy.”

“Oh, it's too late for that,” Scott said, in a voice so even that Logan narrowed his eyes and gave the old man a second glance. He was surrounded by three men who were trying to convince him to drink water, while also low-key helping him support his own head.

“...not really?”

“Yup, that ship had sailed. What? Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Scott shrugged and Logan’s mouth ran dry; things were worse than he thought,

“You know that you don’t _have_ to sleep with these people... right?”

“No, I'm gonna. Each and every one.” The corners of Scott’s mouth began to twitch uncontrollably—bastard.

“Okay fuck you summers.”

“Fuck you right back Wolverine, so far you’ve been a lousy wingman.” Scott accused, but he was laughing quietly.

Logan bit his lower lip, refusing to join in and give Summers the satisfaction.

“Okay fine, help me out here. What exactly are we looking for?”

Scott spread out his fingers and pressed his hands together as he gave it some thought,

“...okay, so I’m thinking blonde. Or ginger. And like... tall. Like _really_ tall. 7 ft 11 would be a good starting point,”

“Okay fuck you.”

“And super skinny!”

“Asshole.”

“None of these funny foreign accents please, none of that ‘aboot’ shit.”

“You mean exotic accents?”

“Yeah, the ones that make people sound screwy.”

“I’ll have you know that women find the accent irresistible.”

“...yeah. I bet they do.”

Logan waited for the burn, but there was none. Scott was just staring down at his beer, hands wrapped around it as if it was a hot cup of tea.

“...Slim?”

“What are _you_ looking for, Logan?” Scott looked up and asked, “Maybe we could set _you_ up tonight!”

Logan narrowed his eyes, why was Scott acting so strange?

“I’m joking.” He clarified, but he didn’t look like someone who’d just cracked a joke. He looked depressed.

Did Logan become, in spite of his good intentions, just another team member pressuring Scott into stuff that he didn't want to do?

After all, his initial response when Logan suggested a night out was to look appalled...

“Okay, new plan.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Everyone in this bar sucks, they don't deserve you. How about we have dinner, drive home, and catch the end of the Grand Prix?”

Logan didn't really care for formula 1, but Scott was an avid fan. He was surprised that Summers didn't cancel on him when he heard a race was on.

“Sounds good.” Scott nodded. He looked relieved. So much for Logan helping him make better choices... But hey, at least he tried.

Their food arrived shortly after, and Logan ordered a second round of beers.

“Will you be okay to drive?”

“Healing factor.” Logan tossed back a chip.

“Why all the beer then?”

“I still get the buzz, it just doesn't last very long.”

“I see.” Scott drained the rest of his beer,

“This is surprisingly good.”

“The beer?”

“Well yeah, actually. But I was talking about the food.”

“ _Aboot_ the food.” Logan corrected, which had won him a flying chip. He tried to catch it and didn't miss the way Scott quietly gloated when he failed.

He looked far more relaxed now that sex was off the table, and the conversation flowed with ease, the way it always did after a training session or a run, and that was when Logan realized that he was relieved as well.

This wingman shit was a terrible idea. He'd still have to get someone else to try and reason with Summers, convince him to play safe, but that someone should probably be Furball or Wheels, freeing Logan to go back to just stabbing things, the way god intended.

“Ready to go home?” Logan asked, conscious of the time.

“Maybe one more round first?”

“You drunk Summers?”

“No.”

“We'll miss the race.”

“We've missed most of it already, I'll watch the rerun.”

“Okay, sure.” Logan leaned back, content. More beer was always the better option.

“Great. This round's on me,”

\-----------------

Scott got up and searched his pockets for his replacement credit card.

Now that he had his back on Logan he couldn't help his silly grin. And yeah, he was a little tipsy, but also, this was fun. He expected tonight to be a nightmare in the best-case scenario, or just a prank in the worst (although a part of him knew that Logan would never do that), but what it ended up being... well, sort of felt like a date.

Scott wasn't fooling himself for a second, the fact that Logan volunteered to be his wingman spoke volumes of how he didn't see him this way, but this non-date was one non-date more than he'd ever thought they'd go on—so he didn't want the night to end just yet. He knew that he wouldn't get a second chance at this, and oh, _there_. He pulled the credit card out of his pocket—

“—Scott!” Lost in thoughts he almost jumped, “What the hell man! You scared the shit out of me!”

“...Matt?” Scott's smile crumbled, coldness hitting him at the core. 

“Problem?” Logan growled, and in the space of a heartbeat the evening became the stuff nightmares were made of;

Scott cringed, practically tasting his dread as the two men noticed, then eyed each other.

“Ha! Glad to see that you patched things up with your so-called _'ex'_ ,” Matt shoved something against his chest and reaching up Scott’s fingers curled around his wallet,

“here, you must have dropped it when you jumped out of my car in the middle of nowhere for no apparent reason.”

Logan rose to his feet behind him, and Scott's stomach dropped. He expected the feral man to storm out, but he surprised him by saying;

“Thanks for the wallet, now fuck off.”

“I’m sorry man, it must really suck to hear that your boyfriend is a cheating shit.”

“All I heard was that even drunk out his mind, he preferred jumping out of a moving vehicle than sleeping with you.”

Matt laughed but it looked forced, and he looked pissed, “Good one. Gotta wonder why he was out here looking for fuckable doppelgangers in the first place.”

“Cause we were broken up fucktart, and now we're back together. Guess we owe you our thanks. Now... are you gonna fuck off, or do you want to take this outside?”

Scott heard joints popping as Logan no doubt made some sort of a physical threat behind his back.

“Fuck you. Both of you.” Matt turned his back on them.

“Oh, we intend to!” Logan called after him and Matt visibly tensed.

Time seemed to have stopped. People were looking their way. Some followed Matt with their eyes. But then a bartender dropped a bottle. A new song lured more people to the dance floor. Then the rest of the witnesses went on with their conversations, until the focus shifted away from them completely.

_...Oh god._

Scott's face burned. His heart was racing. Logan knew. Logan knew _everything._ He searched the bar for the exit sign, but Logan grabbed him by the arm before he could leave.

“Scott.” he tugged, guiding him to sit back down, this time on Logan's side of the booth.

Scott didn't resist; he knew that he owed Logan an explanation. Avoiding his gaze he said,

“I never told him you’re my ex... I... I know what it must look like, but I swear...”

His voice cracked. He hadn't cried since that fateful day at Alkali Lake, but now his throat felt dangerously tight with emotion.

“I know you didn't.” Logan said, accepting the half-truth. It made him feel like scum and he bit his lower lip to keep it from trembling,

_Not now. Not here._

“Hey,” Logan draped an arm around his shoulders, “It's okay.” he shifted closer, and Scott had to stop himself from leaning in and burying his hot face against Logan's shoulder with a heroic effort.

Instead he reached for his beer, wanting to make it all go away, but Logan stopped him by taking hold of his outstretched hand, “Maybe don't.”

The sudden touch made Scott's heart flutter, just like it did the first time around, when Logan grabbed his hand to stop him from poking his shoulder.

 _Pathetic_.

A tear rolled down his cheek and he rubbed at it viciously with his free hand. He wasn't going to fucking cry.

“Scott.”

The way Logan said his name made him look up. Logan was closer than he thought, close enough to lean in and kiss, and Scott was weak—Logan's thin lips looked so damn soft against his stubbles... But Logan couldn't have possibly wanted to... right?

Finding a scrap of courage Scott drew an imaginary line with his thumb across the back of Logan's hand. The feral man didn't pull away, and Scott began to slowly caress his hand back and forth with his thumb, sober enough to understand that he was crossing a line, but not enough to remember what was at risk.

He could feel Logan's intense eyes on him, right before he tightened his hold on his hand. _So...?_

“...Logan?”

“Slim.”

He could have said Cyke, or one-eye, or even Scott, but he chose to say Slim, sealing his fate. Scott freed his hand from his grasp so that he could sling an arm around Logan's broad shoulders and pull him into a kiss, almost moaning when their lips met.

He was worried, even as he opened his mouth for Logan's tongue, that he was pressuring the other man into it, the same way Matt suddenly jumped his bones the other night, so he pulled back long before he felt ready to stop kissing and said,

“You don't have to do this. I mean, if this is some sort of a pity _—_ ” but that was as far as he got before Logan pulled him back in, his grip on his arms so tight that it hurt a little, 

— _Mm—_

It felt like the first time that he kissed someone, _really_ kissed someone, in forever, and like he'd die before letting go, because _damn_ Logan knew exactly what he was doing, but after a long, intense kiss Logan pulled back and restrained him with a hand on his shoulder.

“How many did you have, Summers?”

“What?” Scott blinked, unable to make sense of his words. He was so turned on he felt heady.

“You were trashed the last time you were here. Furball said you're the world's biggest lightweight.”

“Well, I'm sober now.”

“You ended up regretting things with what's-his-face cause you were drinking.” Logan insisted and Scott sighed.

“Okay, um...” god, it was hard to think, hard not to climb into Logan's lap, straddle him and push the flannel shirt off his broad shoulders, “...About two months ago.”

“What?”

“On the way over you asked me _'how new'_ this whole thing is,” Scott gestured at their surroundings, “and I remember that we had our fifth blindfolded session on the day Kitty first lit her menorah, so me being into men started about two months ago.”

“You...” Logan blinked, eyes wide, then he narrowed them, gaze going distant. “So... you came _here_ instead of coming to me?”

Logan looked upset and Scott could have cried with frustration. He didn't want to talk, not now, seconds after learning that Logan wanted this too. He needed... something, a handjob, a blowjob, anything as long as he'd come and Logan would be the one getting him there,

But Logan was watching him, waiting...

“What was the point? I saw you around Jean, you're not exactly subtle when you want someone, and then you offered to be my wingman, so.”

He leaned in but Logan stopped him with a hand against his chest, “Yeah, to keep you from sleeping around, drunk out of your mind!”

“I'm not drunk now!”

But Logan was still wound up, looking at him with disbelief and annoyance, “You should have talked to me first, what were you thinking?!”

“I'm talking to you now, what does it matter?”

“It was dangerous Scott, can you even remember if you used protection with any of these guys?”

“Jesus Logan, with how many guys here do you think that I've slept?”

“You tell me! Or actually, don't. I don't want to know.”

Scott gritted his teeth, anger mixing with his desire. Was Logan slut-shaming him for something he didn't even do?

“Fine!” he got up. Of course nothing could be simple, nothing could be good, not when it came to his train-wreck of a love life! Of-fucking-course!

And yes he was tipsy, and there was a good chance Logan was too—which could have been why they spun a drunken argument out of thin air, but literally and metaphorically seeing red, Scott didn't care. He made his way to the door.

This time Logan didn't stop him.

\---

Son of a bitch.

He made it as far as the car when he realized why Logan didn't bother following him; he didn't have a key. He kicked an empty can of beer that was discarded by the wheels, then lifted his glasses to rub his eyes because he wasn't crying goddamnit. If his eyes were wet it was only because he was disappointed and angry, not because his heart ached.

“Hey.”

He pushed his glasses back into place and turned to find Logan standing behind him, hands crossed over his chest.

“I was just about to fuck this guy,” Scott pointed at a random man on the opposite end of the parking lot, “so make it quick.”

Logan sighed, looking somber. His head was turned to the right and his gaze was aimed at the ground when he said,

“Look I'm sorry. Your sex life is none of my business.” the hazel eyes darted up nervously “I just hate knowing that all of this time it could have been me... if I just told you how I felt ever since the White House.”

...wait, what?

“...the White House?” Scott echoed, trying to remember what went down between them on that horrible day, but nothing came to mind, “That was a millennia ago.”

“Yeah. Guess it was.”

For a moment Scott just stood there, letting it sink in... then he smiled a crooked smile,

“So... you came _here_ instead of coming to me?”

“What was the point?” Logan's smile was wry as well. He uncrossed his arms and took a step forward, trapping Scott between his larger frame and the car, “You clearly hated my guts.”

“I never hated your guts.” Scott wrapped his arms around Logan's neck, and Logan took hold of his waist,

“Sorry for being a dick earlier,” Logan leaned in,

“Wait,” Scott surprised himself by saying, their faces inches apart. He _really_ didn't want to talk, but the other man deserved the truth; “I'm sorry too. Um. Last week was my first time here.”

“What?”

“I've decided that it was the right thing to do, you know. In light of everything. But then you asked me to text you back, so... Guess I jumped out of a moving car just to text you back.”

Logan's eyes became intense in a way that Scott didn't recognize... was he upset with him?

“— _mph”_ , Logan crushed their bodies together against the car and fused his mouth to Scott's. Scott tightened his hold around his neck and spread his feet apart, welcoming the pressure of Logan's thigh between his legs.

It was that much better than when he tried to like it with Matt... two seconds into their lip-lock Scott was painfully aroused, starving for more,

“— _ngh—”_

Logan reached down and squeezed his ass in both hands, his thigh thick and firm between his spread-out legs, and Scott's head began spinning from beer and want, then it suddenly hit him...

...he didn't just want to fool around. He wanted to get fucked.

He didn't get the appeal back when he'd done his research online. Now, however, the thought of taking Logan in this way was making his knees feel weak,

“Car?” he pulled back long enough to beg, and Logan pulled him right back in, but at the same time Scott heard the car getting unlocked behind him.

\---

They were parked at the far end of the lot, making it feel somewhat safe when Logan opened the door to the backseat and guided Scott onto his back. He helped Scott out of his jeans with the door still open, then nudging his legs apart climbed on top of him and closed and locked the door behind them, still fully clothed.

“Just in case.”

“In case of what?”

“Trouble.” Logan shrugged, looking down at him, “Relax, if someone tries to sneak up on us I'll hear him from half-way across the lot.”

“I don't know... we could drive home. It's only a 45 minutes ride.” Scott said with a straight face, but Logan didn't fall for it this time,

“Oh, I'm gonna drive it home alright. Can't guarantee anything about 45 minutes, it's been a while.”

“For you?” Scott asked, incredulous,

“You think that I'm getting a lot of action in that institute of yours?”

“God, I hope not. But all of the times you stole my bike?”

“Borrowed. That's why I left you a CHL timetable.”

“That was you? Jesus Logan! You had to slip it under my door like a death threat? Why couldn't you have just talked to me about it like a decent human being?”

“You're right, let's talk about it. I'm thinking Mondays, Thursdays and every other Sunday?” Logan asked, making a point of rubbing against him, and _god—_

“Summers? Is that a yes? We could make it Wednesdays if that works better. Do you have a calendar on your phone?”

“Fuck you, Logan.”

“We can do that, too.” Logan turned serious, “Just maybe not out here, in case I do need to stab someone.”

“No stabbing,” Scott wrapped his arms and legs around him so that he could pull him down, loving the way that the small space was forcing them into a missionary position, and the feeling of Logan's weight on top of him. He flexed his neck, leaning in for another kiss, then made an involuntary little noise because Logan was an amazing kisser; switching between patient and pushy in a way that set fire to his blood.

“Easy Slim,” Logan said when Scott began moaning and rubbing his trapped dick against the massive bulge in Logan's jeans. Logan leaned back to unzip and push his jeans all the way to his knees,

“We could just rub?”

“Sure, yeah... Just. Can you do me a favor and check if that cute guy is still out there?” Scott rose to his elbows and pretended to stretch his neck so that he could look out the windows,

“I thought you said no stabbing tonight,” Logan pushed him back down and gently bit his neck, right where Matt marked him when he was too drunk to notice.

“— _Mm..._ then don't... tease...” Scott panted.

“Do we even have lube?” Logan pointed out and Scott's heart sank.

“Oh wait!” he pushed back up, almost bumping heads with Logan, then reached down for his discarded jeans... for the wallet that he just retrieved.

He pulled a small sachet out and Logan frowned,

“I'm not using this guy's stuff.”

“It's not his, it's mine. What? I've done my research.”

“Oh yeah?” Logan smiled down at him hungrily, “What did you google, Summers?”

“ _Shut up.”_

“How to get fucked by hung Canadians?”

Scott would have protested, but Logan was dragging his boxer briefs off and he forgot what he was about to say.

— _ohgod,_

Logan wrapped his fingers around him and held him in his big hand, and Scott arched his back, head lolling against the seat,

“How long has it been for you Summers?”

“You know exactly how long-- fuck, hang on,” Logan was stroking him, loose and slow, but even that made him edge,

“Logan stop—” Dangerously close he reached down and took hold of Logan's wrist, “—don't make me come.”

“I know it's been long time for you Summers, but that's usually the whole point.”

“Very funny, you know what I mean.”

“Tell me.”

“Enough with that. I'm not drunk Logan.”

“Great, then tell me.”

Scott signed, again with the talking. Since when was Wolverine the responsible one?

“Fine. I want more than just a handjob. I want to feel you inside me.”

Logan's pupils dilated. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, “It'll be more comfortable back home, in a bed.”

“I'd rather get fucked right here, in this car.” Scott said and took off his shirt.

It had the desired effect. Logan lost his inner battle and bent down to capture his lips. At the same time, Scott could feel him reaching down to pull his cock out. Logan's hand moved between their bodies as he stroked himself a couple of times, the kiss going sloppy when he got too distracted. He then pulled back to tear open the sachet of lube with his teeth.

“Just out of interest, did you also bring protection?”

“Yes. Do we need it?”

“Healing factor, can't catch or pass anything, so whatever you're comfortable with—” Logan hissed when Scott dragged his vest up to expose his abs and chest, then pulled him down against him, wanting to feel more of him.

Settling more comfortably on top of him Logan captured his lips, hands sliding down his body until Scott froze in his arms and pulled back to ask,

“Can we skip it?”

“Skip preparing you?” Logan pressed his lips to Scott's ear while teasing him with sleek fingers, “I thought you've done your research?”

“Well, yeah,” Scott said, his voice tight because it felt kinda hot, but also damn intense, “but can we do without?”

“We shouldn't. Relax for me, it's gonna feel good.” Logan licked his ear and Scott shuddered, suppressing a moan, “Lay back down, Summers. Now let go... that's it.”

Scott lost track of time while Logan gently and slowly prepared him.

At first he hated it as much as he enjoyed it, but then his arms tightened around Logan's neck, keeping him close while breathing hard against his throat; it became that good, that intense—he couldn't even moan... all he could do was pant, a little more and he would come... but he didn't want to admit as much, he didn't want it to end...

“I think you're ready Scott. Do you feel ready?”

“ _...ohmygod...”_ Scott breathed, voice strained.

“You're close?”

“—very.”

“Okay. That's okay. Just gimme a sec.”

Logan kissed him and reached down to touch himself, his hand moving faster and faster between their legs. He moaned against Scott's lips, then broke the kiss to press his cheek to Scott's, panting in his ear as he jerked off to catch up with him.

“So,” Scott panted, his voice strained, “about Wednesdays... were you thinking evenings or afternoons? Cause it may clash with weekly staff meetings.”

“No stabbing remember?” Logan let go of his own cock to playfully slap Scott's ass, but turned on as he was even that felt tormentedly good,

“— _nnh_...then stop teasing, just... just... ” Scott panted, desperate and unable to find the right words.

Logan swallowed hard, his eyes intense, _“_ Jesus Summers, you need it that bad? C'mere,” he dragged him closer and guided his legs further apart,

“Tell me if it gets uncomfortable.”

“...god Logan, just... _please..._ ” Scott didn't care that he was begging, he could barely make sense of Logan's words by that point, he needed it too bad, had waited for it too long,

“Shh, I got you... come here, come close,” Then, somehow finding and holding his gaze through the ruby, Logan finally pushed into him.

“ _...Logan,”_ Scott's eyes slowly sunk shut, and his fingers dug into the other man's forearms. He dropped his head back to the seat and concentrated on breathing, on letting him in. It became easier after Logan pushed on in, all the way, and pleasure began to overcome the initial discomfort.

“Feels good?” Logan slowly rolled his hips, not quite thrusting yet, and Scott sucked in a breath, eyes closed, head lolling. He tugged on Logan's forearms, wordlessly begging him to move,

“Tell me, Scott. Is this what you needed?”

“—yea-- yes... fuck Logan, please...”

“Please what? Tell me what you need, Slim.”

“ _...move...”_

“Like this?”

Scott gritted his teeth when Logan got going, bracing himself for discomfort that never came, and before he knew it he was moaning for it, letting go of Logan's arms so that he could hug his neck and keep him close, shocked by how good the intense in-and-out sensation had felt. He couldn't even return Logan's kisses, his mind was wiped off, disintegrated, nothing else exited while Logan held him down and thoroughly fucked him.

“— _Logan,”_ Scott panted as the other man slowed his pace, “What are you doing?”

“Checking on you.” he could _hear_ Logan smirking and blinked his eyes open so that he could swat his shoulder,

“Come on, don't tease,” he clenched hard and Logan twitched inside of him. Big hands closed around his waist and Scott let out a breath of relief, but Logan still wouldn't move,

“...What?”

“You know we're dating now, right?”

“Not unless you move right _now_ ,”

Logan chuckled, and even that felt good, but then he finally renewed his rhythm and Scott sank back into the seat, his frustration melting away.

“All better now?” Logan teased, smiling against his ear before capturing his lower lip, sucking and gently biting on it.

“— _harder...”_ Scott begged as soon as he released him, the friction inside of him building up towards an orgasm in ways he didn't think possible until just then.

Logan strengthened his hold on him and changed the angle of the penetration, making it even hotter somehow, far more intense...

...fuck, he was _so_ close, but a part of him kept resisting, telling him that he was selfish for being out here _,_ that he must be breaking a law of nature by getting so much of what he wanted _—_ that there would be a price to pay...

And god, they should really test Logan for telepathy, because it was just then that he pressed his lips to Scott's sweat-damp forehead and said, “Let go Summers, it's okay that you need this.”

His voice, combined with the constant sleek, hot friction, made pleasure lick higher up his spine until his tired, shaky legs closed tighter around Logan's waist and he came all over himself, the pleasure intensified by Logan's closeness; their foreheads touching, a big hand cupping his cheek, then sliding down his neck, down his chest, then under his lower back, until Logan wrapped an arm around his waist to support his weight, relieving the strain of holding his pelvis up while he squeezed in slow pulses around Logan's cock.

Spent, he blinked his eyes open, feeling sex-drunk and light-headed, then sent a hand to caress the back of Logan's head while the feral man nuzzled his neck,

“You okay?”

“...yeah.” Scott felt drunker now than he had after three rounds of whiskey last week,

“Is this still okay?” Logan asked, making a slow forward thrust.

“Sure.” Scott heard himself say in some far-off land.

“'kay I'm close,” Logan pressed his cheek to Scott's and renewed his movements.

Everything felt far more intense now that he was sated and overstimulated, but true to his word Logan came inside him on the fifth inward thrust.

Scott held him as he shook through it, his face pressed to Scott's throat, then stroked his back absently,

“You okay?”

“Mm,” Logan kissed his temple and pushed damp bangs to the side of his forehead,

“...Told you that the accent is irresistible.”

Scott scoffed, too tired to deny it.

For a long moment they were content to lie there quietly, catching their breaths, until Logan carefully slid out of his body,

“Next week we're taking the SUV,” he got up with a grunt and reached for the storage box between the two seats, pulling out a package of wet-wipes.

“Next week?” Scott grinned,

“Yeah, Friday is date night.”

“You don't look like a date-night kinda guy.” Scott chuckled but didn't argue. Friday it is.

Logan shrugged, “And you don't look like an alcohol-free beer kinda guy, guess we're both full of surprises.”

“Ugh, can we not talk about that night ever again?”

“Donno Slim... that night played out pretty well for us, in hindsight.”

Smiling wryly and making grabs for the wipes Scott nodded, “Guess it did.”

Logan handed them over, eyes narrowed, lost in thoughts...

“...Hey!” he suddenly poked Scott's chest.

“—What?”

“You told me that you have a terrible taste in men!”

“Um... Did I? Hey, how about you choose the music on the way back?”

“Just on the way back?” Logan arched a brow at him, “That's cute Summers. From now on you'll be lucky if you get to choose the music when you fly the jet!”

“I can't play music on the jet.”

“Exactly.”

“...”

“...yeah, that's fair. Come here,”

And Scott sealed the deal with a kiss.

The End


End file.
